Novelas y relatos de Coming Of Age Short Stories

Clara’s POV I’ve always been the fat girl nobody wanted in college, every guy I crushed on didn’t even see me, they looked right past me to the skinny ones. So I gave up on guys, on love, all that shit, I just wanted to finish school and get a good job but even after I graduated at 23, nothing. I sent out applications, went to places in person, and they took one look at my body and said no. No interview, no chance. Just “we’ll call you” and they never did.

“Tell me.” “I’m touching my pussy.” “Good, baby girl. Push two fingers inside. I want to hear how wet you are.” I did as I was told. My folds were slick, hot, and wet. The noises my wet pussy made seemed to drown out any of the rain that beat against my window. I couldn’t remember the last time I was this aroused. It seemed like ages ago. I pressed two fingers, then three, inside myself, using my thumb to circle my clit. I was so close to coming, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to hold on to this feeling for a while. Who knew when I would feel it again.

Philly mine. Of course, it wasn’t easy. Dr. Philly was totally hung up on the whole age thing. He was in his mid-forties, I was 18 but for all the years between us, Dr. Philly was pretty naive about things. For example, when he inadvertently caught sight of my belly button ring, he’d stared so hard I thought he was going to burn a hole through my skin. He’d blushed and scurried away with papers clutched to his chest, murmuring something about needing to get back to work and I’d realized with a surge of excitement, I’d seen something in Dr. Philly ’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, raw lust.

“I’m not twelve anymore, Uncle Ryan. College sophomore now. Can even reach the top shelf without a step stool.” He chuckled, but didn’t let go right away. His big hands rubbed slow circles on my back, one sliding down to rest just above the curve of my ass. The touch lingered. My cock twitched in my shorts before I could stop it. I’d always been close with Ryan, the uncle who taught me how to skip stones, who listened when Dad got too loud about my “grades.” But lately those hugs felt heavier. Loaded. “Yeah,” he murmured against my hair, voice dropping lower. “I can see that.”

The Underground Fighter The underground fight club smelled like blood, sweat, and cheap beer. Concrete walls, dim red lights, and a chain-link cage in the center where two men were beating the shit out of each other. The crowd roared every time a punch landed. I stood near the back, notebook hidden in my jacket, trying to look like I belonged. My name is Caleb. Twenty-four. Rich kid turned journalist, chasing a story on the illegal fight scene for a big exposé. I was not supposed to be here. But the deeper I dug, the more I needed to see it for myself.

I sucked all three cocks at once, licking and stroking them until they came on my face and tongue. I rode them one by one while the others sucked my nipples and rubbed my clit. I came until I was crying from pleasure. In the quiet moments between rounds we talked more. They opened up about their lives. Lucas told me how lonely success had made him before he found Julian and Victor. Julian spoke about losing his family young and building everything himself. Victor admitted he had never found a woman who could handle all three of them until me. I told them about my fears of never being enough. They listened and held me tighter.

Noah Callahan was nineteen and still believed love happened the way it did in the books he read in secret. He lived in a small apartment above his aunt’s bakery in a quiet coastal town two hours from the city. His parents had died when he was twelve; since then it had been just him, and Aunt Mara, flour-dusted mornings, and the soft click of the register. He worked the counter, delivered bread to local cafés, studied online for a literature degree he wasn’t sure he’d ever finish.

Such as, Randell, the oldest, had the sexiest smile that could make girls drop their damp panties if he so much as looked their way; Lance had an ass you could bounce quarters from and looked moving-violation fine in a pair of boardshorts; and sweet Kingsley had a perverted side to him that totally appealed to my inner bad girl. It was right after my eighteenth birthday that I decided I’d waited long enough for the boys to notice what was twitching right beneath their noses. My opportunity was almost gift-wrapped and handed to me with a bright shiny bow when my parents decided to go away for the weekend, leaving my brothers in charge.

For them, CMP felt less like a market and more like a small festival that never ended. Teenagers liked it even more. They came to hang out, to sit and read the latest novels and to lose themselves in stories that were no longer the same tired tales of noble heroes going to war while weak and sorrowful women waited endlessly at home. These stories were different. The worlds were wider, the characters stranger and braver in new ways, and the imagination behind them left teenagers starstruck. There were stories for children, for youth, for adults. All these stories that made people feel seen.

I could taste myself on his lips and it only made me kiss him even deeper as he lifted me to the counter, spreading my legs open. “Daddy is gonna fuck you now.” He whispered against my lips and I nodded in expectation as he caressed my breasts through my shirt. “But…” “But?” I whimpered in impatience and he pulled back to look at me as his cock teased my entrance. “There's no fucking condom.” He muttered and I froze before shrugging like it was nothing. “Then breed me, daddy. Get me pregnant.”